A Marvelous Thing
by Daisy Miller
Summary: She had pushed it aside and found the man she loved. The man she could only ever love. And it was a marvelous thing. [redmoon]
1. L

A/N: This first chapter was originally written for a contest. It was a one-shot for quite some time, under the name "The Secret Room." I had written three more parts, but I had never posted them. I just found _most_ of them the other day.

I brushed off the cobwebs of the two parts I found and decided to post them. I'll post the other two when I find them. Thanks for reading.

* * *

"A Marvelous Thing"

_Love in Four Parts_

L

Luna Lovegood eyed the bug crawling on the windowsill. She envied the bug, thinking that it could do her some good to do nothing but eat big, green, waxy leaves and sunbathe all day. It'd probably be much more interesting than going to Transfiguration classes. Not that she had anything against the subject personally; she just didn't like it much.

She sighed as she heard footsteps coming her way, and she hoped, perhaps without real conviction, that it wasn't someone coming to torment her or laugh at her chocolate frog earrings. She honestly didn't know what all the fuss was about. So, her earrings were different and her eyes were large, and she enjoyed ready things upside down (it was good practice should she ever find herself the victim of a semi-permanent hanging spell, which of course, lends it's victims to the whims of gravity while successfully inverting the natural posture of said victim). That certainly wasn't cause to jest and leer at her . . . was it?

Luna felt that other people, in general, were strange creatures and she often wondered why they seemed to be so close-minded and blind to the little miracles of the world. Why did no one else ever notice the striking golden streaks that the sun wrapped itself in every night? Why did the laughter of the flowers as the wind romped among them go unheard by everyone but her? Why was the moon's smile never seen by those around her?

Perhaps all those things were seen and heard, but no one wanted to show that they had been seen or heard?

She turned to find that the intention of the person walking past her was probably not to make fun of her, for the person wasn't even looking in her direction. On the contrary, he was staring intently ahead, his wand clutched in his hand and his dirty Quidditch robes billowing in the evening air.

"Hello, Ronald," she said.

Ron stopped walking, and looked out of the corner of his eye, previously unaware of her presence and thus a little scared by her voice, loud and clear in the empty hallway. "Uh . . . Hello, Luna."

"What are you doing?" she asked, walking over to him. She stood in front of him, staring up at his blue eyes.

"Er . . . standing."

She nodded. "It looks like fun. I was thinking about standing in that spot a while ago, but I decided that the sun was too bright and I wouldn't be able to see the surrounding area."

He smiled nervously. "Oh . . . that's nice to know."

"Ronald?"

"Uh . . . it's Ron."

"Can I show you something?"

Before Ron could mutter an excuse and make a hasty departure, she grabbed his hand firmly, resolutely, and pulled him down the hallway. He tried, quite desperately (for he began to fear for his safety), to wrench free from her grasp. She pulled him down the stairs, to the ground floor, passed the portrait of the nice-looking Princess who always winked at him, and down a small flight of stairs.

Darkness surrounded them and Ron held out his wand, still clutched in his right hand. "Lumos," he whispered, holding it up, effectively shining light on the door in front of them. The door was wooden and carved with large, irregularly shaped stars.

"I found it in my second year," said Luna, opening the door. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Ron raised his wand, eyeing the cold, dark chamber they were in. Beautiful? he thought. Beautiful to Snape maybe. The walls were shining with condensation, glowing softly green with mold. It wasn't a very homey space, and he found that he really didn't want to be there, in the dark with no one but Luna.

"It's just a room," he said, taking a step back and finding that she had released her grip on his hand. His hand felt cold.

"Nothing is ever only 'just,'" she said quietly. "It is always something more." Her voice was a whisper, but her words echoed around the room. "Can't you see it? I thought you might be able to see it."

"What?"

"Can't you see it?" she asked again, peering at him tentatively.

"See what?"

"It."

"What's it?" He felt confused and the coldness wasn't helping his wits.

"Well if you can't figure it out, I'm not going to tell you." It was dark, but Ron got the impression that her arms were folded across her chest.

"Fine," he said; he didn't care anyway. "I've got to go. Harry and Hermione are waiting for me."

"How's Harry?" she asked.

"He's fine. Why wouldn't he be?"

She shrugged, her shoulders moving up and down, like wings spreading, stretching. He got the impression that she hadn't shrugged in a very long time. "Ronald?" Her voice was oddly flat, not dreamy and wistful but pragmatic.

"What?" he asked, somehow irritated greatly by her change of tone. He felt like she was above him, for some reason, and the lack of superiority was unnerving. Usually he felt like she was a child, because of her general aura of distinct dottiness, but now she had taken two steps in the maturity level, and he was staring up at her.

"Ronald, would you . . . would you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Can you . . . ." She chewed her bottom lip and Ron found the movement strange for her. Luna didn't seem like the type of person to get nervous.

"Spit it out Luna," he said harshly.

He felt, rather than saw, her frown disappointedly. "Never mind, Ronald," she said at length, a certain haziness in her voice, like she was trying to hide her disappointment, or even perhaps her tears.

"What did you want me to do?" he asked softly, feeling guilty about his treatment towards her. He was a git; Hermione had always told him that, and now here was his proof. Luna was a little girl again, and he had hurt her feelings.

She leaned up and kissed him lightly on his cheek, her lips as warm as fire and as soft as butterfly wings. It all happened so quickly, Ron wouldn't have realized it had happened if he hadn't tasted her breath, as sweet as the chocolate hanging from her ears.

He wandered out of the door, dazed, feeling her eyes upon his back. He wasn't sure what had happened just then, and he wasn't sure he should be thinking about what just happened (if only because he didn't know what had happened; what's the point in thinking about something you don't know? It wastes too much energy) Ron felt it would be in his best interest to remain ignorant, and so he contended himself to walk back to the Gryffindor common room.

_TBC_


	2. O

"A Marvelous Thing"

_Love in Four Parts_

O

It was her hair he first noticed. Her hair that was tangled and knotty and probably dirty. The girl really did need a haircut. Her earrings were made with carrots, hanging from her ears with a lightness only a spell could achieve and bouncing against her neck as she looked up at him. Her eyes came next, all large and silvery, staring at him as if he was some great discovery. He supposed he was some great discovery. For the girl was Luna Lovegood and she hadn't seen him for months. Coincidentally, he hadn't seen her for months either.

"Hello Ronald," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Er." He felt like he should say "standing" because that was what he was doing, but he decided to be more general. "Looking for a book. For Hermione. It's her birthday."

"Oh," she said.

Ron uncomfortably eyed the books, searching for something to say. Nothing came to mind, so he read the book titles, thinking maybe some of them would spark a conversation topic. They didn't.

Her eyes were still staring at him, and he turned towards her. She was wearing a worn white dress that looked like it might have been something she had worn as a child, enlarged and let out to fit her curves. It reached just above her knees. Her shoes were striped, while her socks were dotted with dots, one pulled up while the other one had fallen down to her ankle. There was a scratch on her right knee.

"Well," he said, "I gotta to, er, go. Now." She simply stared. "I'll, uh . . . see you later." He waved goodbye awkwardly and walked away.

He frowned as he paid for Hermione's present. She seemed even weirder than when they were at school. Normally she would have asked him some random question, but she had only asked him one question, and it hadn't been all that random. She seemed . . . older. Mature. She seemed like a woman. It was weird to think of Luna as an adult. It was like seeing your little sister living on her own or getting married.

When he arrived back at the Burrow, he found the kitchen to be in a flutter of noise and movement. His mother was preparing a meal for Hermione's birthday celebration later that evening, while Hermione, herself, was sitting on a barstool reading a large book. She seemed quite untouched by the noise of Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, who Mrs. Weasley had decided wanted to help her a few hours ago. Ginny, naturally, would rather be out playing Quidditch with her older brothers and Harry, but she was stuck stirring a large cauldron full of something.

Ron peered over the edge of the cauldron. "What is it?" he asked her.

"It's supposed to be soup. I think."

"Oh, Ron, be a dear," said his mother, pushing him out of the kitchen and into the dining room, "and set the table. Dinner should be ready shortly."

With a wave of his wand, the table set itself, and he stalked off to his bedroom happily. He was getting used to this whole using-magic-outside-of-school-thing. He had already been out three years, and he was getting quite good at performing everyday spells, such as making his bed.

He plopped down on his made bed and, with another wave of his wand, Hermione's present was wrapped with a nice little bow on top.

Harry sauntered into the room, his pants dirty and his face sweaty. "Where've you been?" he asked, changing out of his dirty clothes.

"Buying that," he replied, pointing to Hermione's gift.

"Another book?" asked Ginny from the doorway. Ginny walked into the room and jumped onto the nearest bed, which happened to be the one Ron was sitting on. Her jump propelled him over the edge of the bed. "Don't you know she probably has enough books by now?" she asked, peering down at him, a smile on her face.

He stood up, grumbling about annoying little sisters under his breath. "Well, what did you get her?"

Ginny shrugged. "A book."

Harry laughed, pulling on a clean shirt. "I got her a book too."

"Oh, hey," said Ron suddenly. "Guess who I saw today? Luna. Haven't seen her for months, have we?"

"Well, no Ron. She's been in Sweden," said Ginny.

"Sweden? Why?"

"You don't listen to a thing I say, do you Ron?" she asked, with a sigh of exasperation. "She's been searching for crumpled-horned snorkacks. I got a letter the other day from her, saying that she'd be back in town in a few days. We invited her to dinner tonight."

"Oh," said Ron, "Well . . ."

Mrs. Weasley suddenly called them all down for dinner, and they ran down the stairs, making quite a commotion that was not even remotely heard over the sound of people settling down at the table, arguing over where they got to sit. Finally, the din settled and Ron found he was sitting next to Harry. Hermione was on his left, and Luna was on the other side of the table, two places down, squeezed between Bill and Remus Lupin.

He figured she had arrived while he was upstairs and he felt like it had been some insult to not welcome her. Her manners held no sign of the insult, but her eyes showed it remarkably. They never seemed to land on him.

They flickered to Bill, then to Remus, then around Remus to look at Tonks. They paused on Charlie, talking animatedly to Fleur, and moved to Fleur who was trying her hardest to politely ignore Charlie. They then turned to Arthur and Molly Weasley, glided over to Fred and George, snuck a glance at Hermione, and landed back on her plate.

Ron took a bite of the food on his plate, his eyes on Luna, wanting desperately for her to look up, look at him. She was averting her eyes, avoiding him, and he didn't like it; it wasn't normal for her.

But what was normal for Luna? Was anything normal for Luna? Or would she always be a mystery? A paradigm of looniness and unpredictability. She was a surprise. There was always something new to discover.

Like her earrings, for instance. She had changed them. They appeared to be Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. One red, one blue.

The red one could be strawberry. Or maybe it was radish? Cherry? Watermelon? The blue could possibly be blueberry. Or maybe something more exotic? Liver was kind of bluish-green sometimes. He squinted trying to see if the blue jellybean had a green tint to it. It didn't.

Her eyes looked up at Harry, then at Hermione, with a curious stare. They moved between Ginny and Hermione (who were sitting next to each other), and then landed on Harry again. Ron felt like she was figuring something out, her brain moving and processing what only she could see.

Why couldn't he see what she could see? He was reminded of that time, in his sixth year, when Luna had dragged him down to a secret room that she had found. She wanted him to see it. But Ron hadn't known what he was supposed to be seeing.

Maybe he was supposed to see her . . .?

He sure saw her now. He saw her lips move as she chewed her food, her saw her eyes roam over the other guests, and he saw her smile at some joke that someone had told. He wasn't really listening to the conversation anymore. In fact, he had never started listening to it in the first place.

He became aware of singing and realized that everyone was singing Hermione happy birthday. He joined in, the bright candles distracting his gaze from Luna and reminding him that he'd barely eaten any of his dinner. A great, big piece of cake would take care of that though.

After the cake had been devoured, the time to open presents came and Hermione sat down in the living room, surrounded by boxes of varying size.

Most of them contained books, but Luna had brought a large box with a small picture of a crumpled-horned snorkack, slinking out of the frame.

"Oh, Luna," said Hermione. "I'm . . . sorry I didn't believe you. I . . ."

Luna nodded solemnly. "It's alright. You didn't know."

"Thank you, Luna," she said, genuinely pleased with her gift. She may be used to always being right, but she wasn't above admitting she was wrong if proof of her misjudgment ever surfaced.

"Your welcome Hermione."

The present opening lasted a while longer, and soon most of the company were yawning and retiring to their bedrooms or flooing home.

Ronald laid in bed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to will sleep upon him. Sleep rarely comes when called and it abandoned Ron, leaving him for some other, probably unworthy, prat. He heard his stomach growl and he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Pulling out the left-overs, he caught a glimpse out of the window and noticed that Luna was standing outside, staring up at the moon, wearing a large sweater and a bright orange skirt. Curious, he poked his head out of the door.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked.

She simply shook her head, still staring up at the sky.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at the sky. Why?" She looked at him over her shoulder, and he swore he saw a faint smile on her pale face.

"It's cold."

"Yes, I know."

"Don't you think you should come inside?"

"Why?"

"Because it's cold."

"Yes, I know that."

"What if you get sick?" He stepped fully outside, probably intending to pull her back inside the warm house.

"Then I get sick." She shrugged and the world shifted. She looked at the moon again. "I don't suppose you can see it . . . can you?"

"See what?"

"It."

"The moon? I see it."

"But do you see it smiling?"

He squinted. "Maybe. I think so. Yeah. I guess. Why?"

"Because it's been smiling down at us for centuries and I thought the smile should be returned."

"Oh."

Silence wrapped itself around them and Ron realized that his shoulder was touching hers.

"Ronald?" She was looking at him now and outside suddenly seemed much warmer. "Can you . . . do me a favor?"

"Hm?"he said, waiting for her to kiss him like she had done last time. Only, he'd be ready this time; he would return her kiss.

However, history did not repeat itself.

"Would you return the moon's smile? For me?" Her voice was quite and childlike, as if she was afraid he would find her request to be some great inconvenience.

Disappointed, but unwilling to admit it to himself, he smiled at the moon, feeling like he was crazy. He threw in a little wave, just for good measure and walked back inside, shivering.

Luna followed him, thanked him, telling him that the moon appreciated his kindness, and she floated her way upstairs, leaving Ron in the kitchen feeling rather empty and lonely.

He was confused, but, having felt this before, he knew what to do. He went back to his room, remaining ignorant of what had just happened (although he felt that it had been something marvelous).

Sleep found him soon after his head hit his pillow and wrapped him with black robes of unconsciousness.

* * *

It was early morning when Ron awoke to find Luna staring at him. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders and rested on either side of his head. 

"Your mother sent me to wake you. Are you awake?"

Her hip was pressed against his, spreading a warmth through his legs.

"Generally, when a person's eyes are open, they're awake."

"Oh," said Luna. "So does that mean you're awake?" She leaned closer to his face, as if making sure that his eyes were really open.

"Yeah . . ." He swallowed. Her nose had nearly touched his, and he felt her hair brush his cheek. "Er . . . Luna?"

"Yes, Ronald?"

Before whatever courage he possessed fled from his body, he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her.

She tasted strangely of chocolate, and he was torn between hungrily gobbling the chocolate up in one bite or taking things slowly and enjoying every last bit of flavor. Luna made the decision for him by keeping her lips closed and pulling back after a few seconds, making the kiss sweet and chaste.

"Does this mean you're awake?" she asked, her voice dreamier than usual, fogged with something that Ron hoped was desire.

"Yeah." His hand was still on the back of her head and he ran his fingers through her hair, his hand stopping on her lower back. "Would you . . . do me a favor?" he said, a small smile on his face; a smile that reminded Luna of the moon's.

"Anything, Ronald."

"Go out for dinner sometime with me."

"Of course. Tomorrow morning would be perfect."

"Er, right. Tomorrow morning then."

He knew that having dinner tomorrow morning would probably defeat the purpose of having dinner in the first place, but Ron didn't care much about purposes and such. He kissed Luna's cheek quickly and she left the room.

_TBC_


	3. V

"A Marvelous Thing"

_Love in Four Parts_

V

Luna was entangled in Ronald's sheets, Ronald's head was on her shoulder, Ronald's leg was across her own, and Ronald's arm was wrapped around her waist.

The smell in the room was kind of spicy, like cinnamon, and she found she enjoyed it immensely. The sun was a golden red and pierced her with its coy grin. Ron murmured something, shifting closer to her, his lips brushing across her neck.

Everything was very much Ronald and very much right.

He stirred and his eyes, his gorgeous blue eyes, opened. Last night came rushing back to him like a hangover, only he didn't feel pain; he felt something that was decidedly like happiness. Nothing much had happened, he remembered. Just some snuggling and some kissing, which was something Ron was not used to. Snuggling. He just wasn't the snuggling type. More often than not, Ron only dated because he knew he would get a good shag afterwards. Surprisingly, Ron never had a very long relationship with members of the opposite sex (nor with members of the same sex, for Ron just didn't "swing" that way). The longest relationship he'd had was with Luna, and that clocked in at a surprising seven months so far. It was getting longer by the seconds.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he replied.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

And then he noticed the clock and felt that he should probably get up and go to work, although nothing ever sounded so horrid to him as that notion.

Luna insisted in making him watch the sun rise fully into the sky before he was allowed to get out of the bed. And then she made him breakfast, standing at the stove, her orange skirt wrinkled and touching her toes, her hair tangled and in desperate need of a haircut.

He fingered a strand of her hair. "You need a hair cut," he whispered against her neck.

She merely shrugged and said, "I don't want a haircut."

He drank his morning tea, reading _The Daily Prophet, _as she stared off into space thinking about something . . . .

She was thinking of him. Ronald. She felt that she was . . . well, that she loved him.

There, she'd said it, well . . . she'd thought it.

The word had been floating around her head, across her glassy eyes, and in the tangles of her hair for quite some time, unwillingly to be formed into something solid. It was wispy and foggy, but now it was a rock. As large as the moon, screaming at her.

Luna Lovegood was in love.

She was a person who based most of her opinions and philosophies on love towards other creatures. However, she'd never had a romantic love, just an overwhelming platonic love for life in general. Even if she had, when she was younger, possessed some type of true romantic love, she wasn't sure she would have bestowed it upon anyone, for she found that act to be something that commanded a lot of responsibility; she wasn't sure she would have had the necessary amount of responsibility it required.

She had felt a fondness towards Ronald when she first met him; he seemed like the type of person, who could see what she saw if he tried hard enough. His ignorance was but a small, trivial matter that could be pushed aside; it was merely the result of his upbringing and insecurity.

She had pushed it aside and found the man she loved. The man she could only ever love. And it was a marvelous thing.

He cleared his throat, and stood up from the table. "I'll see you later, Luna," he said, kissing her on her cheek. She held onto his shirt, and kissed him again, fiercer than she had ever done before, the knowledge of her feelings pressing heavily on her courage.

"Maybe," he said, "I'll stay home today."

And he did stay home. With the girl that laughed at his jokes and told him stories of creatures that may or may not exist and told him to be quiet so that she could hear the flowers on the windowsill singing. She told him to listen.

He didn't. He was too distracted by her hair shining in the sun.

* * *

They were sitting outside, underneath a tree Luna had found while she was taking a walk one day. The sun was hot and Ron didn't feel like sitting outside, in the scratchy grass. He was forgetting why he had agreed to come here, but then she kissed him again and he remembered. 

Her head was in his lap, but presently it rose. Without a word, she reached up to the tree and disappeared in its leaves. She sat on a branch and surveyed the area around her, her legs swinging happily in the air.

"Luna, you're going to get yourself hurt," he said, standing up.

"No I'm not." She swung backwards and Ron stepped forward to catch her, should she fall. She didn't fall, but remained in the tree, hanging upside down.

There was a ground of blue at her feet and a sky of green at her head. Her blood pounded through her body, protesting at the sudden change in direction of flow. She heard Ron sigh.

"Come on," she said, motioning for him to climb up as well.

"I'm not hanging upside down from the tree branch, Luna, so just get down here." His tone was clearly irritated. The sun was beating down on him even harder now and sweat began to appear on his face.

She frowned. "But I . . . I . . . thought . . . ."

Her voice was dreamy, as usual, but it held an air of confusion that broke through what would normally be her indifferent composure. It made him feel dumb.

"Spit it out, Luna!"

His words hung in the air like a bleeding wound. They stung her face.

Slowly, she climbed down, her knee getting scratched in the process. The wood was quite; birds no longer chirped happily and the wind had stopped. Standing across from him, she said, her voice flat, "Let's go home."

He kissed her forehead, his touch holding the promise of an apology. No words crossed his lips to bring it forth and the promise remained less than full.

The air between them the rest of the day was awkward, but it was trivial: Luna still felt an overwhelming emotion of love, and Ron was still completely stuck on her.

He wasn't sure if it was love yet. It looked like love and it felt like love. But Ron's insecurities slashed through this feeling. Was he really in love with her? Was she in love with him? Why?

Luna's feelings were hard to discern; she hid them often. However, he was sure she wouldn't be with him this long if she didn't love him. Luna was too free spirited to hang around with a guy she didn't like. She was a being completely untouched by obligation and social restraints. This was because she simply didn't care. That is, she didn't care what other people thought of her; she'd love them either way, but she wouldn't change simply because they wanted her to.

That was one reason why he loved her so much . . . .

Yes, he _did _loved her.

She turned to him and smiled. "Father says someone wrote in the other day, telling him about a sighting of the crumpled-horned snorkack . . . . Isn't that nice Ronald? Maybe we'll be able to get some proper pictures."

"Pictures? Oh, yeah. That'd be nice." He wasn't sure what the pictures were supposed to be of (he hadn't really been listening to her words; he'd been preoccupied by her moving lips), but they would obviously be nice, judging by the excited look on her face. "Very nice."

He leaned in and kissed her, mumbling, "I'm sorry I got mad, earlier."

Her smile was serene and knowledgeable, as if she knew he would say that sooner or later. "That's alright Ronald. People get upset all the time. It's unavoidable."

He kissed her again, harder, and he wanted to gobble her up, like a chocolate bar. She allowed him a small taste and then pulled back, saying, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he said.

She left.

He watched her go.

* * *

The air was surprisingly crisp. Then again, it was September and summer was coming to an end, while fall was settling in quite nicely. Ronald assumed he really shouldn't feel all that surprised by the cool air. It's just, Luna had been laying next to him and now she had gotten up. 

His body felt naked, bare, alone.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"The moon."

Her breath fogged the window in front of her. She impatiently wiped it away with the sleeve of the maroon jumper she was wearing. The jumper had a large golden "R" on the front and it was much too large for her. It fit her perfectly.

"The moon isn't going anywhere once it's gotten to where it's going. Come back. The moon can wait."

She turned to him slowly, as if he were an intruder she had just noticed. "The moon can never wait. It always has something to be doing. Someplace to be visiting."

He sighed.

"Don't you want to smile at it?"

He sighed even louder. "No. I want to go to sleep. I have to work in the morning."

"But . . . ." Her voice was flat. Again.

He felt small and childish and he was irritated. He just wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. His lack of sleep only escalated his irritated state into a very angry state, and her glassy eyes were making his own eyes sting.

"Luna." His voice was tired. Very tired. _Physically _tired. Tired of her _nonsense_.

The moon didn't smile. Flowers didn't laugh. The sun did not wear robes of gold. The stars most certainly did not have funny jokes to tell you. "The moon isn't smiling," he said. "It's just a rock. A large rock." He turned on his side and pulled the covers up roughly.

She was quite for many seconds, and then, slowly, she began to move, gathering her things. She left the room and Ron let her go, finding his body was too tired to run after her, too tired to care.

He just wanted to sleep.

But sleep didn't come. In fact, it refused to be seen for two days, and Ron, himself, stayed in his bed, staring vaguely at the ceiling, for that time. He knew he should move. Find her. Apologize or something.

Pride is a dreadful curse at time like these, and he thought to himself, she'll come back. Any day now, she'll come back.

She didn't come back for three days. For four days. For five days.

Ronald began to think that she might not come back at all.

_TBC_


	4. E

"A Marvelous Thing"

_Love in Four Parts_

E

Ron was having a dream. It was a very nice dream. Luna was leaning over him, her hair tickling her cheeks and she was whispering something to him; her words spoke of love, of flowers, of warm summer days underneath a tree, of cold winter nights under the moon. It made him feel extremely happy.

"Ron?"

His eyes flew open and landed on Hermione sitting next to him, her hip pressing against his thigh. Her warmth hit him a like a knife, savagely ripping him in half with the remembrance that Luna was not there. The dull ache that had bee asleep with him awoke powerfully and he put a hand to his chest, like his father did when he had heartburn.

"Ron?" she asked again. "How are you feeling? Are you sick? I haven't heard from you in days, and I was worried. What's wrong?"

Her questions came to him in a jumble and he had to sit up and rub his eyes before he could concentrate on them. He concentrated.. Hard. And then he said, "What?"

She took a deep breath. "Are you okay? You haven't been to work. I stopped by and asked your boss." she added, when he opened his mouth in protest. "You look terrible. When was the last time you got out of bed?"

"Er . . ." He turned to the clock. "Five hours ago. I got up to eat something." He ran a hand through his dirty hair and swung his legs around to the floor.

Hermione stood up and put her hands on her hips. "What happened? Where's Luna? Did you have a fight?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

She stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain.

He sighed. "I . . . er. Well, I told her the moon was just a rock. It wasn't really a fight. She just . . . she left."

Hermione's gaze was oozing with pity, but there was a definite scowl on her face. She didn't quite understand the circumstances (for the moon really _was _just a rock), but knowing Luna, that truth probably hurt. Ron was an insensitive git.

"Ron, you're an insensitive git, you know that?"

"So? She didn't have to get so upset! They were just words!"

"Contrary to popular belief, _Ronald_, words _can _hurt."

"I love her," he said quietly, stupidly, for she wasn't there to hear him.

"Then why haven't you apologized?"

"Apologize?" He looked out the window, thinking maybe the moon would still be hanging around in the early morning sky. If he could apologize to the moon, maybe the moon would tell Luna he was sorry? Because the moon was Luna and Luna was the moon. It may have been just a rock, but it had been _her _rock, and that made it the most precious thing in the world.

The moon wasn't there.

"Yes, _apologize_. It's what _mature adults _do when they make a mistake."

He didn't feel like a mature adult. "I'll . . . ."

"You'll talk to her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, on Saturday. At the Burrow."

"The Burrow?"

"Ron!" she said, "September nineteenth?"

"Nineteenth . . . ? Oh, you're birthday," he said, after a few seconds of searching his brain. It was all crowded with thoughts of Luna: how her smile snaked its way up her face, as if reluctant to show itself; how her hair was nearly passed her waist and always needed to be brushed; how her eyes always held a secret understanding of the world, of life, of love. "Sorry. I–I forgot."

Luna had cute toes. The little kid kind that wiggled every time she stretched. And her skin was always soft. Her mouth always tasted sweet, like chocolate, and there was a spot on her neck that made her sigh every time he kissed it.

"Yes, I realize that," she said, a smile on her face. The smile turned serious. "You _are _coming, right? Because I've already invited Luna, and I expect both of you two to be there."

"Yeah, I'll . . ." He yawned. "Be there."

* * *

Luna read the invitation again. It was addressed to Ron and her, and somehow the owl had found only her. She wondered why Ron hadn't received it. Maybe Ron wouldn't let the owl in? Or maybe he hadn't been at home? 

She would be going to the party, of course. Hermione was, after all, her friend. She wouldn't be there because Ron would be there, though. Ron didn't love her. She thought he might have, at one point, but his words had hurt her and dashed any thoughts of tender emotion (on his part) away, like a hand splashing a calm pond of silver water. She realized that he only thought of her as a child, someone to be humored. He didn't see what she saw. He was blind.

She still loved him, though.

Luna pocketed the small letter and stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was still straggly and she thought she should probably get a haircut before the party.

* * *

Everyone around him was smiling. Ron stood in his own little space in the kitchen and looked forlorn, like a child who had lost his favorite stuffed animal. 

"What's wrong with you, Ron?" asked his mother, walking passed him and placing a bowl down on the counter. "Where's Luna?"

"Er . . . She's running late."

Mrs. Weasley eyed her youngest son with apprehension. He was acting most peculiarly. He didn't even want to go out and play Quidditch. He just . . . stood. And stared, as if seeing something no one else could see.

It was when the party was getting ready to settle down at the table when Luna walked in, nearly unnoticed in the chaos of finding the right seat. He made his way towards her, and blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Everyone had sat down, leaving Ron and Luna the only ones standing.

She smiled, and sat down. "Sit down Ronald."

He sat down, his eyes never leaving her face. The room was quite; no one was really sure how to proceed, for they felt like intruders.

Ron noticed Luna's hair was three inches shorter, and much more even. "You cut your hair," he said loudly, making the intruders feel even more like intruders. He fingered it curiously. It was much softer than usual, and it felt weird.

"You're very observant, aren't you?" she asked. Her tone was odd; it was dreamy, but held an hint of cold, hard truth, as if she had witnessed the horrors of the world and was, as a result, a sarcastic cynic.

The guests had started talking, trying to ignore Ron and Luna's presumably private conversation. Luna spooned some food on her plate and passed the bowl to Ron. He passed it to Harry.

Luna began to eat, her eyes pinned on some invisible landmark in front of her. It's probably the moon, thought Ron, smiling at her or something. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and he missed her straggly, tangled mess of blonde. Her earrings were made out of butterbeer corks, and they matched her necklace, which matched her dress, for they were precisely the same color. He thought that he noticed a hint of pink on her cheeks, and he wondered if it was from the warm air or if she had applied some blush to her face. He thought it was the warm air.

"I love you," he said, the words strangled, hoping to get out quickly so that they would reach her ears before any other noise in the room.

The words had nothing to fear, for there was no other noise in the room; it was quiet when Ron's words left his mouth and it stayed quiet while his words soaked into the silence. He fidgeted, hoping she would look at him. Her shoulders fell down, as if she had been holding her breath and the movement reminded Ron of an angel lowering her wings as she landed on the earth. But Luna hadn't left the clouds completely: she brought them with her, down to his level so that he may share them with her.

Luna looked up at him, as if he were the moon, and her eyes pierced his body right in the center: the part of him that had been aching since she left.

"And I love you," she said simply.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and looked down at his empty plate. He looked back at her, smiling widely, and then looked around the room. The guests began eating again.

Ron looked at Luna.

Luna looked at Ron.

And it was a marvelous thing.

fin.

* * *

A/N: Don't you just love happy endings? I do. I like them very much. I also like constructive and encouraging feedback, so feel free to leave some reviews with constructive and encouraging feedback.


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